


Moonlight

by AkaiTsumi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Music, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaiTsumi/pseuds/AkaiTsumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long, tiring night, and Draco just wants to relax and chill-out in the Room of Requirement - but he's not the only one that feels that way. A chance meeting between two enemies who momentarily call a mutual treace. Set during HBP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for ages really, since I started reading the La Corda D'Oro manga - and going to see the seventh film last week just made me want to write this even more. :D It's kinda long I'm afraid, but hopefully enjoy it. Written also because Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata is possibly the coolest combination of music ever: the first movement of course being the most famous, beautiful piece ever, but the last which isn't as well-known, is also completely epic. If you play piano it's definitely a piece to check out!
> 
> Set during the sixth book; I've tried to keep it with the canon storyline, so theoretically, this could have happened, but of course it's a non-canon pairing and everything, so it's non-canon in canon, if that makes any sense. ^-^
> 
> Also, I didn't have time to properly proof-read this; I think I've got everything, but if you spot any typos I've missed, please let me know! :)
> 
> Lastly, if you're reading this, have a really really brilliant Christmas, and a very very very very happy New Year! Merry Christmas guys!

Zabini was sleeping.

Nott was sleeping.

Goyle was snoring.

Crabbe was snoring with his mouth half-open, a trail of spit drooling out of the corner.

Draco Malfoy was wide-awake, his brain having no intention of shutting down and letting him sleep, snore or drool. He lay on his bed in the Slytherin sixth-year boy’s dormitory, arms folded, cold eyes contemplating the ceiling. Angry thoughts buzzed through his mind, too preoccupied to focus on anything else.

All in all, it had been a shitty evening.

One of the worst for a long time.

He felt like it had been his last chance, since the failed Katie Bell incident, to plan something really good before Christmas. Tonight was the last night; tomorrow half the school – including him – would be leaving for home and the Christmas holidays.

He hadn’t wanted to, but his mother had insisted.

Of course, tonight had also been stupid Slughorn’s stupid Christmas Party, and though that had meant he could invent a stupid excuse when stupid Filch had caught him trying to get in the Room of Requirement, it also had meant that aforementioned stupid Filch could drag him to aforementioned stupid party where that stupid Snape just had to be.

And then aforementioned stupid Snape had also just had to take him off to his stupid office for some stupid talk.

Draco snorted.

Like he cared if Snape had made the Unbreakable Vow with his mother. It was his own stupid fault.

He made a discontented noise in the back of his throat and swung himself out of bed. He was running out of time; for himself, his father and his mother, and everyone knew that the Dark Lord didn’t like to wait.

Slowly, feeling leaden in every limb – whether from lack of sleep or the terror that constantly hung over him, he didn’t have a clue – he made his way to the window. Instead of revealing the murky waters of the frozen lake that lay beyond it, the enchanted glass showed him a view of the school grounds as they would have appeared from one of the towers. Tiny flakes of snow floated past, adding to the thick blanket that already covered the school.

They looked so … free, delicately spiralling from the sky, falling any which way they wanted. But on second thoughts, they weren’t, were they? They were in the control of the wind, sending them downwards to earth like puppets on strings, and completely at the mercy of the temperature, which could turn them to rain at any second.

In reality, Draco thought with a smirk, they were about as free as he was.

He turned around and stubbed his toe on something hard. Cursing mildly under his breath he looked down to see that his trunk had been knocked over and half of his belongings had fallen on the floor. The belonging in question that he’d stepped on had been a thick, hardcover book.

Draco frowned, then reached down to pick it up.

“Beethoven piano sonatas,” he muttered, then hurriedly looked around to check that no one had heard him. It was a muggle book, filled with muggle music by a muggle composer, so he would have been mortified to be found with it in his possession, but the truth was, even if he was loath to admit it, that the man had been a genius.

Muggle, but a genius.

Which was probably the reason that he dared to bring it to Hogwarts, as well as an act of defiance against his pure-blood, anti-muggle family.

As he stared down at its battered cover, an idea started to form in his head. An outrageous one, that would probably end up with him being caught by that damn caretaker again, and if found by another student would make him look weak, but he didn’t care. It had been a long, stressful, disappointing evening, and he just wanted to relax and wind-down.

So he tucked the book under his arm, threw on his cloak, slipped out the room and five minutes later, found himself beside the tapestry of dancing trolls on the seventh-floor corridor. He closed his eyes, and like he had done so many times the past term, paced up and down the corridor. But this time, the words he repeated in his mind were very different to what he usually thought.

‘I need a place to play piano … I need a place to play piano …’

The door materialized in front of him and quietly, almost timidly, as if unsure what to expect, he opened it and stepped inside. It was only as he shut it softly behind him that he realized that there was someone else already there.

The room he found himself in was like a giant music shop. Enormous bookcases lined two opposing walls, one filled with books of sheet music, the other CDs. Incredibly comfy-looking couches were dotted in front of the bookcases, for browsing the books or listening to the CDs, Draco guessed, judging by the bookmarks, headphones and CD players that adorned small coffee-tables beside them. And all around him were pianos: uprights, keyboards, even an impressive organ at the far wall. But the center-piece of the room, standing  
proudly on a raised dias, was a magnificent grand piano.

And sitting perched on the stool beside it, playing a piece Draco instantly recognized, was an extremely familiar, bushy-brown-haired Gryffindor.

Normally, Draco would have leapt at the opportunity to interrupt her and make fun of the irritating know-it-all, but for some reason, something held his tongue.

Perhaps it was the look on her face as she played; earlier, he’d glimpsed her at Slughorn’s party looking harassed and worn-out, yet now there was no trace of it. Her forehead was smoothed free of worried-lines and her expression was peaceful as she looked down at the keys, so absorbed in her music that she hadn’t even noticed him entering.

Perhaps it was her music itself – she was playing a piece that in fact, was in the very book he was holding and one he himself had played many times – the Moonlight sonata. Despite that she was only playing the right-hand, Draco found himself drawn into it. The sound was so beautiful, so emotional, quite unlike anything he’d ever managed to produce even though his skill was obviously way above hers.

Or perhaps it was that she had, for the first time he’d ever seen it, pulled her mane of hair back into a ponytail that a few stray curls had escaped from, and somehow transformed her into looking – dare he think it – quite beautiful …

Draco reprimanded himself immediately.

No, he did not dare think it. This was Granger, after all – a mudblood.

He tried to focus on that thought, but strangely, her simple music made him forget it, like soap slipping through his fingers, entrancing him instead. In a daze, he slowly put down his book on one of the coffee-tables, and softly stepped towards the piano. Soon, he was standing right behind her, watching her concentrate on playing the beautiful triplets in her right-hand.

She neared the end of the piece, and a section where the left-hand took the tune crept closer, but the girl made no move to play it. Automatically, like he wasn’t in control of his body, Draco leaned down, unable to resist, so that his chin was hovering only centimetres above his shoulder and his hair (which had grown long with neglect) was merely a breath away from her cheek, and slowly lifted his own hand to add the left-hand part to her right.

He felt, more than heard, her stiffen in surprise and her small intake of breath but she carried on playing, lingering on the last notes. He felt the magic draining away slowly and dropped his hand, straightening up as she cautiously turned around to see who the intruder was.

“M-Malfoy!” her brown eyes widened in shock as they met his and she bit her lip apprehensively. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitated, swallowing the sneer that instinctively rose to his mouth, before muttering quietly, feeling a little embarrassed. “I could ask the same to you.”

Hermione looked taken aback by his humane reply, and she had good reason to, Draco reflected, seeing as that had probably been the first thing he’d ever said to her that wasn’t insulting. She stared at him, her shock and apprehension now mixed with confusion. Then she looked down at the piano and ran a finger along the keys.

“I needed somewhere quiet,” she said. “Just to think things over.” She shot him a small smile. “It’s been a long night.”

Draco nodded. The words ‘me too’ were very close to slipping out his mouth but he restrained himself and sat down beside her – not too close – instead. Hermione continued in an undertone as if the two of them who were usually arch-enemies sitting next to each other and having a civilized conversation was the most normal thing in the world.

“And besides, I’ve taken to sleeping in here, anyway,” she gestured to one of the couches where a blanket was neatly folded. “I can’t stand being in the same room as that – that hag.” An infuriated look crossed her face and she pursed her lips.

“Hag?” Draco inquired, curiously. Hermione scowled adorably.

“Lavender Brown,” she spat through gritted teeth, clenching her fist.

“Ah,” Draco understood. Preoccupied as he was at the moment, even he had heard of Weasley’s relationship. Brown sounded like a complete slut in his opinion.

Beside him, Hermione shook off the last of her fuming.

“So, what about you?” she asked cautiously. “Forgive me, but I never thought you’d be one to play piano – let alone Beethoven.” She seemed a little afraid; as though she was scared she’d gone too far.

But Draco just sighed heavily and said. “Music runs in our family; it’s considered a skilled art befitting a pure-blood. My father plays flute … I learnt piano from a young age.” He paused, not entirely sure why he was telling her this, then shrugged. Maybe it was because it had been so long since he’d had a real person to talk to about everything – Moaning Myrtle definitely didn’t count. That he’d been forced to stoop that low was just sad.

“The Beethoven?” Hermione prompted, blatantly intrigued.

“Fits of defiance as a kid,” Draco shrugged again. “One time I ran away, got lost, and heard someone playing one of the sonatas.” He faltered. “I’ve been … uh … secretly playing them ever since.”

Hermione’s eyes grew very round, seeming to sparkle in the light. “Can you play all of them?”

“Yeah,” Draco said.

“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s amazing! I can only play the right-hand of the first movement of the Moonlight sonata – a friend of mine taught me ages ago – but they’re all so incredible and some of them look really hard!”

Draco’s mouth twisted into a small smile at her eagerness. “Yeah, they are,” he agreed. “Like have you ever heard this one – third movement of the Moonlight?” He shifted along the stool so that he sat more in the middle, not noticing that this closed the distance between them, and proceeded to play the opening bars; a series of broken chords that flew up the keys at a ferocious speed.

Hermione clapped. “What about the third movement of the Pathetique?” she requested excitedly. “I really love that one.”

“Oh, that’s one of my favourites,” Draco grinned, and hurried to comply.

Several hours later, after a long and animated discussion about the merits of all the sonatas, they finally noticed the time.

“Oh, wow, it’ll be sunrise soon,” Hermione gasped. “I can’t believe how fast the time went.”

“Me too,” Draco said, then hesitated and looked at his feet. “I should probably be getting back. Filch’ll have a field day if he finds me.”

“Mmm,” Hermione looked down too. “Sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for?” Draco asked, amused, as he stood up.

Hermione laughed softly. “I don’t know. Force of habit, I guess.”

“Well, I’ll be going then …” Draco trailed off, but he didn’t move.

“Mmm,” Hermione murmured again. She looked up and her warm brown eyes met his gray ones for the umpteenth time that night, and also for the umpteenth time, Draco found himself contemplating how beautiful she looked.

“I – thanks,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Hermione didn’t need an explanation of what for; instead she smiled, and taking him completely by surprise, hugged him tentatively. “Sometimes we all need someone to talk to.”

“Y-yeah,” Draco’s voice felt a little hoarse as he stared down at the girl in his arms, then, whilst not entirely certain why, he reached up with a trembling hand and cupped her chin in his pale fingers. “May I -?”

For answer, though she must have been shocked that he would even consider the act in the first place, she hid it in another smile, and flicked her gaze to a spot above their heads. Draco glanced up and saw a sprig of mistletoe growing in the air above them.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” he smiled too, and gently leaned down to brush his lips against hers in a soft kiss.

It was short and sweet, but Draco felt that, weird though the circumstances were, it had been the perfect end to an evening that had, somehow, turned out to be one of the best for a long time.

And who’d have ever thought he would have spent it with a muggle-born?

When he pulled back, he noticed a tear sparkling in her eye.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Hermione just smiled sadly.

“I wish it could be like this all the time,” she whispered. “No enemies, no wars, no disagreements …”

Draco considered it. “The world wouldn’t be able to work that way. I don’t think humans could ever get along without arguing.”

“I know,” Hermione brushed away the tears. “But it would be nice, wouldn’t it? Just like tonight. I don’t think I’ve been so – so happy for a long time.” She laughed quietly. “And I never thought you could ever cause that.”

“Me neither,” Draco managed to tear himself away and turned towards the door. “Maybe it shows that perhaps humans could learn to get along with anyone for short periods of time.”

“Hopefully.”

“But constantly would be too much.”

“… yes.”

There was a pause, and Draco twisted around to take a last look at the girl standing beside the piano.

“Merry Christmas, Granger.”

“Merry Christmas, Malfoy.”


End file.
